Can anyone tell me Why?

Nine days out of ten, I get up in the morning an hour before my children. I sit bleary-eyed in front of my computer for a few minutes and hope I’ve gotten some e-mails in the night. Something *besides* online sales and ads for Viagra, that is. Then I drink a big glass of chocolate milk. This is the part of the morning where I wished I drank coffee like a grown-up, but I don’t. So chocolate milk it is.

Then, I shower. Get dressed. Put on my make up. Fix my hair or at the very least put it up in a ponytail. Get the kids breakfast ready. Wake the kids, eat breakfast with them, and spend a little time refereeing bonding with them for the next half hour. Then, we walk to school together. I walk all three of them in the front door, saying hello to the various teachers and staff scattered about. I kiss Kellen and Brayden good-bye for the day (ok, I admit, we’re down to the “eye-rolling while I give them a hug and a quick peck on the top of the head” category of kissing, but at least I still get that) and then I walk Kendrie to her room, saying good morning to her teacher and the other teachers in the hall. I leave the school, saying good BYE to the staff, and walk home, whereupon I normally have nothing substantial to do but get back on the computer and hope once again for some good e-mails or blog reading.

So can anyone tell me WHY, on that tenth day, things do not go as planned? The tenth day (which was TODAY, by the way) is the day I try valiantly to sleep as late as my children. It’s never successful, especially lately, but I do try. I skip the normal (ie, hygienic) parts of my morning such as showering or brushing my teeth. I throw sweat pants on under the t-shirt that I slept in, still have yesterday’s eye makeup running down my cheeks, and my hair is sticking out everywhere. I wake the kids just a few minutes after I get out of bed, throw granola bars at them, and then I drive my kids to school so as not to face anyone. Yes, I know our country is paying through the nose for gasoline and driving my kids one hundred yards to school is ridiculous, but I do it on those occasional mornings. I put on my sunglasses, smile and wave gamely to the crossing guards, and get the hell back home before anyone notices (not that they care, but before they notice) how truly awful I look.

So WHY, I ask again, is it THOSE mornings, (THIS morning, to be exact) when I arrive back home three minutes later, hair askew, pajama top still on, and wearing house-slippers, that my daughter calls to tell me she left her glasses at home and can I please bring them back to the school???